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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25357849">sound of nothing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bootstrap_Paradox/pseuds/Bootstrap_Paradox'>Bootstrap_Paradox</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Autistic!Dirk, M/M, Music, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt, autistic headcanon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:08:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,906</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25357849</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bootstrap_Paradox/pseuds/Bootstrap_Paradox</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Todd Brotzman is a different man now. The days of Mexican Funeral are long over, but he can play music, still... just not for a crowd. For one person only.</p>
<p>For Dirk.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Todd Brotzman/Dirk Gently</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>sound of nothing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>written for a prompt and originally posted on tumblr (bootstrapparadoxed.tumblr.com/post/622267624659795968/thanks-for-the-prompt-confused-android-oof)<br/>prompt sent by confused-android (confused-android.tumblr.com)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Case of the Stolen Flower Basket (as dubbed, unofficially, by Dirk) started out on a more relaxed note than most of their cases: in a flowershop, with a stolen basket. A basket, mind you, that was stolen in broad daylight from a closed room, under mysterious circumstances.</p>
<p>It also started with Dirk ending up in a flowershop, accidentally, while he was trying to find an ice-cream place. And it wasn’t even a case then, as much as Dirk’s brief but intense obsession with closed room mysteries, but I digress.</p>
<p>Point is, a basket was missing, a basket thief was at large, and the holistic crew of the holistic detective agency found themselves in a huge abandoned storing space, following up on a “lead”. Todd, Dirk and Farah walked the damp bleak corridors, opening any block that seemed suspicious. Most of them did, and most contained a truly bizarre collection of items.</p>
<p>One was filled up entirely with broken IKEA furniture. One was stuffed to the brim with an assortment of left shoes. And, perhaps most unsettling, one consisted of nothing but headless dolls of various shapes and sizes, along with some disfigured plush animals.</p>
<p>-What the hell was this place? – Todd wondered, prying open yet another door.</p>
<p>Behind it was an empty space, containing exactly one chair with exactly one empty jar perched on the edge of its seat.</p>
<p>-The warehouse of a profoundly odd collector. – Dirk proclaimed. – He… had an excess of money, and wanted to collect things, but the normal things people collect like stamps or candy wrappers were too boring for him, so he did this instead.</p>
<p>-Found anything important? – Farah’s voice echoed against the crumbling walls.</p>
<p>-Yes! – Dirk yelled back.</p>
<p>-No. – Todd corrected, then turned back to Dirk. – An eccentric collector then huh? – Evidently, he had decided to entertain Dirk’s guess. – What about this one then?</p>
<p>He pointed at the nearest door and immediately proceeded to kick it down. It was meant to be a slight push, but instead the door caved in completely, slipping off its hinges and crashing against the floor with a deafening metal rumble.</p>
<p>-Sorry! – Todd bit his lip.</p>
<p>He saw Dirk wince and then almost shrivel up at the sound, arms pulled suddenly towards his chest, as if trying to protect himself from the noise.</p>
<p>Noises. Dirk did not do well with them. And Todd knew that all too well.</p>
<p>-Sorry. – He repeated. – I didn’t mean to do… that.</p>
<p>-It’s fine. – Dirk mumbled, trying his best to shake off the feeling and get back into investigative mood. – What’s in it then?</p>
<p>They stepped over the dilapidated door and into the tight storage space. Inside it were a few pieces of old furniture, half a dozen sealed boxes, at least a whole heap of sawdust, and…</p>
<p>-Todd! – Dirk really did try to tone down the enthusiasm, but alas. – Look!</p>
<p>First, Todd noticed Dirk’s flapping arms, and the smile on his face, and felt his own lips stretch into a grin. Only then he turned to check what was in there, and realized that the wall of the storage space was lined up with various musical instruments. Guitars, mostly; electric, acoustic, even toy ones…</p>
<p>-It’s your thing! – Dirk beamed.</p>
<p>-Yeah. – Todd agreed. – It’s my thing.</p>
<p>He approached the wall and picked up one of the guitars.</p>
<p>-It’s expensive. – He declared, and checked the instrument for any signs of wear and tear. – And new. Damn. – He went slowly through the collection. – Well, these aren’t the very top of the chain, but they’re fancier than I used to have.</p>
<p>He took one of the electric guitars – a slick, bright red beauty – and held it gently in his hands. He hadn’t played guitar since he bashed his last one against the wall of the Ridgley building… that happened less than a year prior, and yet it seemed a lifetime away.</p>
<p>-Can we take some? – Dirk asked, then, not waiting for a reply, picked out one of the guitars at random. – They’re no-ones so it doesn’t count as stealing.</p>
<p>-I guess I could take one or two. – Todd agreed. – They’re as good as thrown out at this point. No use for them collecting dust in here.</p>
<p>-Where the hell are you two? – Farah’s voice chimed through the corridor.</p>
<p>-Over here! – Dirk shouted back.</p>
<p>-Ugh. – Todd muttered. – I have to pick now. Wait. Actually… - He looked at the guitar he had in his hands, then the one Dirk was still holding, and smiled with the corner of his mouth. – Those two are good. Let’s go.</p>
<p>-Guys. – Farah nearly avoided a collision with the broken door as she entered the storage space. – You should see this. Now. – She paused. – I think I found a skeleton.</p>
<p>The guitars were then stashed in the corner, and waited patiently for their new owner to crawl on all fours into a basement, poke some human bones with a stick, and emerge – dusty, exhausted, and deeply confused.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The evening was slow and peaceful. While Farah was busy making phone calls and trying to arrange for someone to examine, discretely and unofficially, a mysterious unidentified skeleton, Todd and Dirk stayed in Todd’s apartment. Or, rather, at the apartment that used to be Todd’s. He didn’t remember the last time he had a dinner there, and besides, Dirk spent more nights than not in the guest bedroom, so it was really <em>their</em> apartment.</p>
<p>-Do you have any ideas about how the basket connects to the skeleton yet? – Todd asked, placing two cups of tea on the table.</p>
<p>He didn’t have to ask Dirk what he wanted; he knew his (rather narrow) range of food and drink preferences by heart.</p>
<p>-Not a clue. – Dirk admitted, and raised his gaze to the ceiling, staring attentively at some smudge. – I think we should go to Claire’s house.</p>
<p>-Why the owner’s house? – Todd asked.</p>
<p>-Feels relevant. – Dirk shrugged, eyes still focused on the smudge. – Oh. – He turned in his seat suddenly. – The guitars! Can you play for me?</p>
<p>Todd sighed. He anticipated this happening.</p>
<p>-Well, - he said, - I can’t play the electric one cause you need equipment for it and we didn’t steal any, and I haven’t played an acoustic guitar in like two years, but…</p>
<p>-I don’t care if it’s not your best or some equally stupid excuse. – Dirk interrupted him. – You know I’ll be impressed no matter what.</p>
<p>Todd laughed shortly, and nodded. It was true – Dirk was impressed and excited by seemingly <em>everything</em>, from the fluffy blanket assortment at Walmart (he had to touch every. single. one.) to the Sacred Wisdom shared with him by Todd that the number on the package of pasta tells you how long it will take to cook it. Dirk was also somehow oblivious to his own talents, insisting that connecting eleven entirely unrelated pieces of information into a complete narrative was “simple” and “obvious”.</p>
<p>-Fine. – Todd caved in, and got up to fetch the acoustic guitar. – But I probably won’t know the cords of the songs you like.</p>
<p>Considering that Dirk mostly listened to obscure European rock music, 80s pop, and Disney soundtracks, it was hardly surprising.</p>
<p>-Not tuned at all, probably. – Todd, the guitar now in hands, returned to his seat and gave the strings a test stroke. – Yep. – He nodded. – Gimme a few minutes.</p>
<p>He tuned the guitar as best as he could, and tapped his fingers on the table, trying to decide what to play. Dirk had watched him with curiosity and was now sipping his tea, waiting for the music to start. Todd paused, took a deep breath in, and began to play the first song that he was <em>sure</em> he remembered – “Behind Blue Eyes”.</p>
<p>The music flowed; Todd focused on the movement of his fingers, on the vibration of the string, and the metal at his fingertips. He sang the words softly, almost as an afterthought. He had forgotten how good it felt to make music happen. The song was in the air, brought to life by the motion of his hands, and the night was young, and he was lost in the moment. He skipped the electric guitar solo and went straight to the final reprise of the chorus.</p>
<p>Then the music stopped, and silence fell on his shoulders. He kept quiet, not saying anything, waiting for Dirk to react. <em>That</em> is when Todd realized that Dirk wasn’t talking – and Dirk was <strong>always</strong> talking. He talked over movies, and news on the TV, and shop assistants and, on one memorable occasion, over a talking parrot. It’s not that he was rude - it’s just that his head was so full of words, constantly, that they had to be let out.</p>
<p>But Dirk wasn’t talking now. Now he simply sat in his place, eyes transfixed on Todd’s hands, blinking.</p>
<p>-Are you okay? – Todd asked.</p>
<p>There was a pause.</p>
<p>-Mmm? – Dirk blinked faster and looked up, meeting Todd’s gaze, startled slightly, as if waking up from a pleasant dream. – Yes. Yes of course I’m okay.</p>
<p>-You kinda zoned out a little bit.</p>
<p>-I did?</p>
<p>-Yeah.</p>
<p>-You play really good music. – Dirk smiled softly.</p>
<p>-Thanks. – Todd smiled back.</p>
<p>-It’s nice to not be… attacked by sound for a change. – Dirk added.  – Can you… keep, playing, please?</p>
<p>-Sure. – Todd replied. -I mean, I don’t remember <em>that</em> many songs, and…</p>
<p>He remembered enough songs for a whole mini-at-home concert.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>It doesn’t end there.</p>
<p>Together, they spend many an evening consumed by music, music brought to life by Todd, for Dirk, <em>specifically</em> for Dirk, and for him only. Todd plays everything – every song he has ever loved, acoustic versions of Mexican Funeral pieces, approximate renditions of whatever is on the radio these days…</p>
<p>Dirk makes requests. Todd googles guitar tabs and practices while Dirk is still asleep, in the ungodly early hours of the morning, sitting on the windowsill of the apartment block while people leave for first shifts at work. He has performed in front of huge crowds, and music journalists, and many girls (and guys…) he was trying to impress – but nothing has ever felt as personal, crucial, <em>tender</em>, as playing for Dirk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The skeleton is identified, and the stolen basket is discovered. The convoluted twists and turns of the story, which involves a near-extinct flower, a 77-year-old Russian spy and an actual African prince, come to their natural close. The excitement and danger are over, if only for a brief respite, and peace is restored. A new case will arrive soon enough… but until then, they have their tiny apartment, and Todd has his guitars, and music lingers in the air, and Dirk is enthralled with the music, still and speechless in his seat.</p>
<p>They look at each other, and they understand each other precisely, and, for once in his life, Dirk has no words, and needs no words, and wants nothing else but to listen. God knows, his life is never safe or simple, but now Todd is here, and the world is really not that bad, and he is happy.</p>
<p>The Earth continues to spin. New bizarre, perplexing and astonishing things will happen. Songs will be played, and words <em>will</em> be said in time. Maybe, in part at least, because someone ran, and never looked back, and left behind all their belongings, even their very expensive guitars…</p>
<p>Sometimes – most of the times – the Universe wants them to help it. But, on this occasion, it is gracious enough to help them in return.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>for more Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency stuff, follow me on tumblr at bootstrapparadoxed.tumblr.com</p>
<p>and as always, if you enjoyed the work, kudos, comments and shares are highly appreciated</p></blockquote></div></div>
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